Page 9 of Elusion

My next idea for Mission Make Her Smile develops toward the end of our set. Benji agrees when I shout my request in his ear. We play this song all the time for the hell of it, and it just so happens to perfectly fit the occasion.

On the last note of our final song, I hold the whammy bar longer than necessary because, well, I’m that guy. Callie’s on the couch off to the side of the room in perfect view.

Listen up, beautiful.

Benji nods to me and calls out the song for the other two. Johnny tosses his head back, chuckling. He loves this song as much as I do. A perplexed Gavin shrugs his shoulders, wondering what the hell I’m doing. Yeah, I can’t recall ever working this hard in my life to get laid.

“Unfortunately, boys and girls, our evening with you has come to an end.” Benji rattles off his spiel into the microphone, the crowd groaning in response. “I know. I know. But lucky for you, Jordan, in all his scantily clad glory, has made one final song request.”

They roar to life again at the opening notes for Guns N’ Roses “Sweet Child o’ Mine.” Late eighties hair metal? Check. For the verses, I join Benji at the mic, serenading the girl with the smile and the bluest eyes. I kill my solo, unsurprisingly, and as I hit the last note of the song, Benji rips off my towel. His disappointment is obvious when he sees my boxers. Like I said, they’re obnoxious. After a dramatic bow, I set down my guitar, leap offstage, and sprint upstairs.

Now,that’swhat it looks like to win someone over.

The bathroom’s occupied, making me glad I didn’t leave my clothes in there. I dress in a room lit by the light of the hallway. Coats cover the bed. Callie’s sticks out among the multiple black jackets, so I tuck her hat and scarf in the pocket. Thanks for the loan, and I hope never to wear them again.

“So much for being fully clothed for all future encounters.” Her reflection watches me in the mirror when I look up.

“A senseless thing to say.” I turn around for a better view, not disappointed by what I get. “I meant, all future encounters in public. But I failed on that front as well.”

She wanders the edge of the room, touching every object on the shelves as she passes. “An interesting song choice.”

“What can I say?” I sidestep into her path, hip-checking the dresser in the process. It fucking hurts, but I work through the pain. “Inspiration struck.”

She stops in front of me, and the scent of coconut fogs my brain. Her eyes only momentarily distract me from my target. Her lips. Mindful of how she spooks and reverts to being polite, I move slow. She lets me tuck her hair behind her ear and seems fine as my hand lingers on her cheek.

Execute, Waters.

I lean down and press my lips to hers. It’s the same sensation as the first time I kissed her, but this time, the heat has nothing to do with a temperature difference. My fingers curl around the back of her neck, pulling her closer. She runs her hands up my chest and parts her lips. Her tongue slides against mine, and then—

She’s three steps away and once again a challenge to my ego.

“Sorry.” She touches her lips where mine belong. “I’m unsure about this…” She looks at the door when someone laughs in the hall.

“If you put your tongue in my mouth unsure, I’m dying to see you certain.”

It’s a shitty joke in my head and much worse out loud. I internally cringe as shock widens her eyes.

“I am so sorry, Callie. Sometimes, the asshole falls out of my mouth.”

She grabs her coat out of the pile, not even looking at me anymore. “I was going to say, I’m unsure about this being the best place, considering everyone’s coats are in here.”

On her way by, I touch her arm, and she whirls around, wearing a scowl for the history books.

“Do not touch me. I was right the first time.”

Out the door she goes.

Two steps into following her, I stop.

What am I doing?I do not pursue girls. But my life has consisted of very little else since meeting this one. Every time she does something unexpected, I rack my brain to figure her out. My fascination stems from the chase. It’s the challenge that tempts me, not the girl. Refusing to run after her will counteract whatever power she holds over me. I should let this bring our little adventure to an end.

Sound reasoning, yet my urge to go after her decreases zero percent.

I make it almost three steps and circle back, cursing my inability to let this go—to let her go. She is, without a doubt, uninterested. Why waste my time? A ticking clock hangs over my freedom. The parental unit laid out our deal in unmistakable terms: use these years to get everything out of my system before settling in for a mindless existence full of responsibility—not in those exact words. They used terms like law school, prestigious attorney, and high-profile law firm, but the outcome remains the same. I won’t squander a single second to pursue one girl for one night. Especially one I’ve so royally screwed up with already.

This time, my argument defeats the overwhelming impulse to race after her. She’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I just need to not think about her.

My resolve lasts about another three seconds.

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